


Pure, evil, lucid (I'd sleep alright with that on top of me)

by allollipoppins, SugarSweetest



Series: Ritual [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, God!Yuri, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Secretly a God! Katsuki Yuuri, Witch!Yuuri Katsuki, tw: drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/pseuds/allollipoppins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarSweetest/pseuds/SugarSweetest
Summary: If he wants to take on the gods, Yuri Plisetsky will need more than luck on his side.Good thing he has his own personal witch to lend him a hand.(Part of the Ritual series, but can be read as a standalone.)





	Pure, evil, lucid (I'd sleep alright with that on top of me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lazchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazchan/gifts).



> After writing the first installement of the series, I realized that I had a craving for YuYuu that remained to be sated. That, and it was kindly pointed out to me that soul-binding was an endless gold mine :)
> 
> You don't need to have read Me llaman bruja before reading this, but if you have, you should know that the soul binding as described here is not the same as the one written in Me llaman bruja. This is a rewriting of sorts of what I wish had actually happened.
> 
> I listened to In This Moment's "Witching Hour" and "Roots" while writing this. It isn't compulsory but it matches most of the second half of the OS.
> 
> This work is unbeta'ed, as per usual, and English isn't my first language so apologies if there are a shit ton of typos.
> 
> Disclaimer: We don't own Yuri!!! on Ice (for obvious reasons :'( ).
> 
> Title courtesy of Bertold Brecht's poetry (bless).

Yakov Feltsman, legendary preceptor of the half-gods, laughs at him when he stands naked before him after being told to take his clothes off, long and slim limbs appearing from under the silken fabric, small cock hanging between his legs.

"You're just a boy,” he remarks wistfully, “how can you hope to survive here?”

 

“But you have trained boys before,” Yuri bites back. “You are training boys in this very moment! Why wouldn't you take me in?”

 

“You'll find that I have very good reason for not taking anyone in such times.”

 

“I'm not anyone!” Yuri snarls, fists clenched to his sides. “My name is Yuri Plisetsky, son of Aphrodite, heir to General Nikolai Plisetsky's bloodline, and I have come here to conquer Olympus and take back what is rightfully mine.”

 

“Yes yes, I know,” Yakov waves dismissively. “They all say that. I've known who you were since you crossed the borders of this camp. Heavens above, I've known of your very existence and your quest since you were but a newborn with only a lifetime before you.”

 

“So you won't help me, even knowing what awaits me?” Yuri insists.

 

Yakov shakes his head. “No one can help you, Yuri Plisetsky. If you want help, you'll have to take it for yourself.”

 

With one last look at him, Yakov sighs with resignation clear in his exhale,and turns. “You start tomorrow. Don't be late, or you shall regret it.”

 

Yuri nods curtly, and exits the tent.

 

* * *

 

To his surprise it isn't Yakov who supervises most of his training, but his wife, Lilia Baranovskaya. He needs not ask for her name or enquire after a presentation. All of Olympus know who she is. The Hera of the living as they call them in the human realm. When Yuri stands before her for the first time, he straightens his poise as well as he can, arches his limbs

 

“Yuri Plisetsky,” she states drily after surrounding him, her piercing green eyes seizing all of him in a mental grip that makes him catch his breath.

 

“If you want to survive here, you'll have to let go of your past self. If you truly wish to pass the tests, you'll have to be born again. Adapt, evolve, become.”

 

“Are you truly ready to begin?”

 

Yuri only stares back. “With all my heart.”

 

* * *

 

They drive swords, knives and spears through his body when they fight. Training in active combat is the only time when he allows himself to lose control, and he relishes on it. The blades in his hands become extensions of himself as he throws them, swings them without missing a single target, relentlessly carving his mark into their skins and opening old scars. Such is the law of the world, Yuri tells himself when they retreat to their respective tents, all glacing warily at him. The strongest against the weakest. Nature versus nurture.

 

But it's not enough to make him strong. It's never enough.

 

Lilia makes him lie on the ground as she slices his fingers open, testing him to see how fast he can heal and how long he can stand the pain without complaining. The pads of his fingers stained with blood take far too long to heal, and by the time his wounds are closed new ones come. At this rate, he'll never be able to take the next step of his training.

 

He makes his impatience known soon enough, in his own way. Pestering and releasing an aura that makes everyone back away from his menacing form. Only Lilia remains unfazed.

 

“You're supposed to be training me! To get me to Olympus. And yet you're not doing anything at all, you old witch!”

 

He expects to be struck, or worse, for only the ire of Hades could equal a woman's silent fury. But Lilia Baranovskaya only glowers in that expresionless manner of hers, and seizes his face to bring it close to her own. His chin is held high, pinched between her clawed, twisted fingers. Her nails dig into the flesh of his cheeks, forcing him to repress a wince at how profoundly they are sinking into him. He can't feel the ground under his feets, elevated as he currently is in the air, only hanging onto Lilia's wrists around his throat.

“Your blood is black, Yuri Plisetsky” she hisses low enough for only them to hear, acknowledging rather than admonishing. “Sullied, and coursing through your veins like venom. It will kill you, one day or another, I cannot tell you when exactly.”

 

He rfingers tighten in a death grip. “Oh I would train you in spite of it, have no doubt about that. I would teach you the art of killing, of deceiving your enemy, I would make you invincible.... But I can only do so much when you have the devil in you.”

 

“I do not!” Yuri raves with as much bite as he can muster with what little breath he has left. “You made me the promise that you would train me, even if I had to give my heart and soul for it!”

 

Lilia sighs, then releases him. Yuri tumbles to the ground and quickly gets back up, coughing. His teacher watches as he catches his breath, looking down on him with an unreadable expression in her eyes.

 

“Poor child... your soul isn't even yours to bear anymore, is it? Hasn't been for a while now.”

 

He knows without a doubt that the sharp eyes trained on him sense his uneasiness at being discovered.

 

She tuts, a noise he doesn't know whether to associate with criticism or observation. “At the very least I know your soul is in good hands... for the timebeing. Sooner or later they'll come for you, Yuri Plisetsky, the Lords know they are already here. Inside you.” She brushes one of her red claws over his chest, right where his heart is beating frantically. Yuri swallows back the panic, the underlying meaning in her words.

 

Lilia's voice interrupts his thoughts and jolts him back in the present.

“Find that witch of yours Yuri Plisetsky, wherever they are. I won't go any further with you until you have been purified.”

 

* * *

 

The heart, he learns from his philosophy lessons, is but an organ that serves a metaphorical function for poets and philosophers of the realm. In spite of all speculations on its value, the heart remained the most important organ in the human body. His teachers quoted Aristotle: “the seat of intelligence, motion, and sensation", then engaged in metaphysical dialogues in attempts to reflect, or rather have them reflect on the role of the heart in the human subconsciousness.

 

Maybe his heart is the reason why he feels so lonely, so empty.

 

The hollowness that inhabits his mind has its moments: some days it is a fleeting thought gone like seafoam washed away by the waves, and other times it pulses in an oppresive manner. Like a headache that morphes into migraine, a drum beating a wild rhythm at the bottom of his stomach, relentlessly and harshly. It's in his blood, palpable and yet invisible to the human eye. A lone conscience that speaks and has him by the throat, a voice that whispers in the dark.

 

He excuses himself from dinner one too many nights, confining himself in his tent and pretending to sleep. Or at least trying to. The voice lulls him to sleep but he struggles against it, knowing better than to dismiss the tantalizing tones it holds.

 

Yuri can only fight for so long, for he never escapes him.

 

“Yuri.”

 

He buries himself deeper under the covers, evading the delirium midnight inflicts on the weaker mortals.

 

“You're hurt, Yuri.” The voice whispers earnestly, pained and tender like an autumn breeze on the eve of winter. “Let me help you.”

 

"You're not real" he mutters, throwing an arm over his closed eyes as if it would deepen the darkness under his eyelids. He doesn't need his imagination to see him. He is very much flesh and bone above him, creamy skin brushing against his own, the campfire reflected in his eyes and giving them a reddish hue.

 

Yuuri chuckles lowly, as if to confirm the unspoken. “Oh, Yuri, I can assure you than I,” he brushes a long fingers from his neck down to his chest, “am very much real.” His palm comes to rest against Yuri's abdomen, warm but not uncomfortable.

 

Yuri knows better than to trust his soft smile when his stare morphs into a hungry gaze that seeks him out from atop him. The witch rises above him, his garments falling at the shoulders and leaving his collarbone bare, marked only by black runes he cannot decipher in his human ignorance.

 

"Let me go at once," he protests weakly, hands seizing his assailant by the shoulders and pushing back with equal feebleness. "Get out of my head." Please, he begs mutely, but for what he isn't sure. Yuuri pushes him back on his cot and spreads his clothes apart from his chest, then presses a kiss to his forehead.

 

"Don't hide from me, Yuri,” he whispers with his nose buried in the blod hair at Yuri's temple. “Don't reject me," another kiss pressed to his ear, nibbling lightly on his lobe like a kitten, and Yuri keens. When he realizes he is the origin of the noise he attempts to push him back again, but fails when he finds himself pinned to the bed, trapped under Yuuri and an unseen weight settled on his shoulders and in his back.

 

Yuri wants nothing more than to throttle him, to call him by the worst names. Witch, widow maker, wolf in disguise.But his words die on his lips as Yuuri's name surfaces from the back of his throat, a raspy plea for mercy and the unattainable.

 

"Lose yourself to me." Yuuri commands as he presses his lips to his, breathing his essence into him. Yuri kisses back with fervor, tasting the sweetness that uniquely Yuuri in his mouth. Only when he encounters a hint of spice does he realizes that Yuuri's lip is bleeding, the cut light but enough for the liquid to find its way into him. Yuri takes him in, relishes it as if it were ambrosia set before him by the gods. Yuuri's blood lives in him, thrums and flourishes in his veins.

 

He faintly remembers their first coupling, and their only to date. Yuuri's teasing but indulgent laugh when faced with his inexperience, echoing in his head and breaking the silence of the early hours of the night. The shadows coiled around them, ripples of dusk light pooling on their skin like a protective veil.The sting in his hand when he presses their open palms together, Yuuri's blood blending with his, fingers and limbs entwined, joined together in a dark embrace. The feeling of completeness with Yuuri around him, fitting him like a glove, Yuuri with his lips on his lips, Yuuri with his lips and skin swollen and reddened from kisses and scratches.

 

They had merged their souls together that night. Yuri was his, just as Yuuri belonged to him.

 

"I am yours" Yuuri punctuates with every kiss he lays on his skin, every touch and every moan that escapes his beautiful mouth, “and you are mine” he shivers above Yuri, and he can't help but get a certain satisfaction out of knowing that he is the sole cause of his lust. "And I shall be yours forever. Until time and the gods separate us."

 

"So mote it be."

 

He comes awake to the silence and the last sparks of the campfire crackling in his ears, the bottom of his tunic wet and his limbs sore.

 

To provoke Yuuri Katsuki would be to face the wrath of the gods trapped within flesh.

 

* * *

 

With the voice come the rumors.

 

The other students call him names behind his back, whisper it between themselves as he passes by them, grouped in hordes like cattle ready to be sacrificed to the gods. "Witch's whore." "Slave." "Cursed one." Though he denies it vehemently, he feels the pain of rejection from his peers. He doesn't dissuade them either. If anything it only insencourages him to cultivate his loneliness.

 

A darkhorse makes his presence known in the crowd, not so long after he settles in camp. Otabek Altin doesn't particularly stand out from his fellow comrades: he's slightly shorter than average but still manages to tower Yuri, his skin is golden from prolonged exposure to the sun and his hair cut as per the custom many soldiers adopt instead of letting their hair grow. He's a shadow out of them all, a quiet presence that never shoves his nose where it shouldn't belong. At least Otabek doesn't bother Yuri when they both have the night watch. A silent, mutual acknowledgment is enough for the both of them.

 

* * *

 

They are playing cards – the game of War – one evening when Otabek finally pops the question.

“Is it true, what they say?” Otabek asks as they draw their cards at the same moment, back turned towards each other.

Yuri doesn't need to ask what he means by that. He only shrugs in response. “People say a lot. People speak a lot. You'll have to be more precise than that.”

“Does your poison have a name?”

“My poison,” Yuri starts, turning his card at the same time as Otabek, then giving it away as he has the upper hand, “has but many names. As does my salvation. Can't tell which is which, and which he is exactly.”

“He?” Otabek points out with another card set at the center. His face is devious of expression, but his voice carries a lilt that betrays his surprise, and Yuri almost smiles for managing to amaze his friend in light of the situation. A single raised eyebrow serves as his question.

“I thought witches were supposed to be, well, women.”

Yuri huffs, a small smile unconsciously making its way to his lips, carrying a secret that Otabek can only guess. “Oh I can assure, that one is definitely not a woman.”

Unless he had tricked him, of course – he wouldn't dare name him, wouldn't give him that pleasure. Even in his thoughts he remains nameless, a face in the distance, a shape blurred amid a sandstorm in the dunes of Carthage.

“You sound as if you doubt it.”

Ah, damn Otabek and his keen judiciousness.

“Well witches are usually women, for the most part. Or so people peg them to be. The gods know them by a thousand names.”

They draw cards in silence, exchanging doubles and passing from winner to loser, loser to winner of each round. When Otabek draws a queen and reaches for Yuri's card, the blond stops him with a hand on his wrist. When the kazakh raises an eyebrow, Yuri simply points to the card.

“There is Circe,” he begins, catching Otabek's attention when he circles the queen's blond head with his finger. “The bird of ill omen, she who brings death in her wake and has men squall at her feet like pigs.”

They keep playing until one of them draws a new queen, a brunette decked in blue, which Yuri takes hold of again.

“Next comes Medea, She with great ambition, Kingslayer, loyal to an end. The siren who dooms you and personally guides you to the Gates of Hell should you have the misfortune of betraying her trust.”

“Then we have Calypso,” a red-haired woman finds her way into Yuri's deck, “Deceiver of the gods, she who ensnares the hearts of men and trades the world in exchange for their eternal love.”

“Last but not least, Nausicaa,” as their deck comes to an end, “she whom you must never forget for she was the one to give Odysseus life, when the seas and the skies and the lands almost took it away from him and left him bare for the Hells to swallow.”

"And my poison, as it is, is all of them, and yet neither of them."

 

“I'm honoured that you should think of me that way, but there is truly no need to terrify your friend with such stories.”

 

Startled, they both rise to their feet and turn to face the newcomer. Yuri's heart skips a beat and he freezes when he realizes who is standing before them.

 

"Yuuri."

 

Yuuri smiles through his reverent facade. "Good evening, Yuri."

 

* * *

 

Otabek excuses himself to give them privacy – or it was Yuri who wordlessly ordered him to leave when he caught him staring for too long at Yuuri, draped in black clothing that merge with the night sky. Yuri grabs him none too gently by the wrists and drags him away towards the beach, before shoving him against a tree trunk.

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hisses, teeth bared and hand still wound around Yuuri's throat.

 

Yuuri doesn't seem to mind nor to feel it though, as the smile he flashes shows no hint of pain or discomfort. "It's good to see you too, Yuri. Been a while since the last time we saw each other."

 

"Cut the crap!" Yuri snaps, shoving Yuuri back for good measure then releasing him, turning his back to him to regain his composure. Yuuri rubs at his throat, but makes no move to come closer.

 

"I meant what I said. It feels like ages ago since I last heard of you."

 

Yuri doesn't deign to reply, arms crossed and feigning to ignore him.

 

"You've had me worried, you know?” Even without seeing him, he can tell Yuuri is smiling softly in that almost maternal way of his. “They don't send me many news of you here, only a note every now and then to tell me the most basic things. That you're eating, drinking, sleeping, training..." he trails off, and silence settles between them.

 

It is Yuri who breaks their silence. “What have you done to me?”

Yuuri sighs wearily, having without doubt dreaded this conversation for some time. “I am not the cause of your suffering, Yura.”

 

“Then why am I like this? Why can't I get better?” He turns to him, and catches Yuuri's enquiring look. The witch raises an eyebrow.

 

“But you are getting better...”

 

“I am not! Lilia – she keeps telling me that I am not at my best yet! And nothing I do is satisfying enough for her, for all of them.” Yuri kneels to the ground, fingers digging into his hair and tugging.

 

Yuuri's legs enter his peripheral vision and he lets himself be mutely manhandled, Yuuri's fingers sliding between his own and smoothing out the strands. The surge of power is faint but very much present, making him square his shoulders and his hair prickling at the back of his neck as magic bristles under his skin. All from Yuuri's touch only.

 

Yuuri hums under his breath, still cradling Yuri's head in his hands, until he pulls back suddenly. "Oh. I think I know what is wrong with you."

 

Yuuri gets back up and gives him a hand he doesn't refuse as they face each other again. “It seems the gods don't trust you yet. You are still, after all, inhabiting a human vessel.”

 

To say Yuri's face in this moment was priceless would be an understatement. "But – how can that be? I am a god."

 

“Yes yes, but I'm not too surprised by the change. You may be able to counter attacks and benefit from supernatural strength, but you are still weak. You are, after al, the fruit of Aphrodite's illicit union with the God of War. I don't doubt that Hera has put a spell on you."

“Now," he breathes out, "I may not be the Holy Mother, but I can try to work my magic on you... Yuri, son of Aphrodite Anadyomene, she who rose from the sea..."

 

Yuri frowns at the use of titles. "And how exactly do you intend to do that?"

 

In answer, Yuuri turns to the sea, waves crashing into the rocks of the bay.

 

“If you want to survive you need to conjure a power far greater than yours. I think it is about time we called upon your sisters.”

 

Yuri's eyes widen. “You don't mean...”

 

Yuuri simply nods. “The nymphs will lend us the sea. Only for tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Yuri falls to the water with the breath knocked out of him, like a punch well placed to the gut before he has time to realize what is happening. The stars above disappear as liquid darkness envelops his limbs and blurs his vision, forcing him to close his eyes. It seeps inside his mouth, under his clothes, deep to the bone. Water invades his nose and lungs and ir burns.

 

He is drowning.

 

Sheer panic invades his entire being when he realizes that the salty water is dragging him into its merciless depths. He tries to pull away from the invisible force tugging, pushing at his limbs and reaches for the surface, barely lit by moonlight. But his efforts are fruitless. His body remains locked in place, paralysed by the currents. Waving his legs and arms was useless as the water petrified him to a statue.

 

Was it the end then? Was he really going to die without putting up a real fight?

 

“Don't fight back.”

 

But how can he help it, when the last of him is slipping away like sand between his fingers?

 

His lungs couldn't stop working, struggling to breathe even as his intakes only added more water to his lungs like burning lava and made him sunk like a stone. Only pain keeps him fighting, only pain tells him that he is still alive.

 

“Don't resist, Yuri. Feel the water within you.”

 

Yuuri is beside him before he even registers it, grabbing him tightly by the shoulders in a grip his numb mind barely perceives.

 

“Adapt.”

 

Yuuri places his hands on his face, as he did when he saw him again.

 

“Evolve.”

 

He swiftly closes the distance between them, knocking the last of breath out of Yuri's body. He turns limp in Yuuri's arms, as his body starts to sink past the grip of Yuuri's fingers.

 

“Become.”

 

As the last of his strength leaves him and his eyelids droop, Yuuri's open wider, irises glowing bright red in the murky water. He pulls him up by the collar and they ascend together towards the surface.

 

Yuri gasps as they exit the water, holding onto Yuuri with a death grip. Yuuri only lets him melt in his arms.

 

“The human is dead,” Yuuri whispers in his ear. “Only Yuri Plisetsky, son of Aphrodite and Ares, god of the Olympian Realm remains.”

 

Yuri half chokes on his words as he slowly gains back the use of his lungs. “So mote it be.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us on tumblr:  
> \- the muse @yuuriharemheadcanons  
> \- the writer @allollipoppins


End file.
